Songstress, Misplaced
by Just Another Indonesian Writer
Summary: In which Ranka Lee embarks on a voyage to finally make peace with the Vajra four years after the war, this time not as a Super-dimensional Cinderella that represents love and sincerity... but as a fighter pilot for the N.U.N.S. [AU! - Set after the end of the Sayonara no Tsubasa movie's timeline]
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

Okay... I'm not the type of guy who would usually put in an Author's Note before the story begins. Hell, these days I'd rather not put in an Note at all if I can help it. But I feel like I really need to address some things that might become a concern as you read my work. But welcome to ' _Songstress, Misplaced_ ', an original Macross story that still heavily borrows many assets from the Macross Frontier anime - or rather the movie (the Sayonara no Tsubasa movie to be exact, since this story's setting is basically four years after the ending). Some of its characters, setting, timeline, and mechanical units. Now, I would say that while I have this weird love/hate relationship with the Macross series, I'm not exactly well-versed on the lore or basically the general storyline of the more recent anime, especially Frontier and Delta. They've been just come and go for the most part on my end.

So as such, it is of my greatest intention to tell you to please mind some of the mistakes that I can and WILL certainly do on my story, like character-breaking personalities, lore-unfriendly assets or just basically all inconsistencies, errors that isn't align with the canon, or literally anything that " _shouldn't work like this_ " because trust me when I say that even I have to pull some parts out of my own arse while writing this down. This story would be best treated as an AU / Alternate Universe setting and to have only little connections with the Macross canon. But I will try to explain whatever I've written within exposition paragraphs within the story. And yes, this story **_IS_** OC heavy this story would be focusing on the N.U.N.S. side instead of the S.M.S.'s after all.

I hope that's all I have to say regarding this story. I don't want to spoil much of its contents, to the point that it might ruin your enjoyment even further aside from the errors I've made. I hope you enjoy your stay and what I've written so far.

Traesto.

* * *

Frustrated, sad, angry, confused.

Ozma Lee was feeling all of those things and much, much more. The man carefully rubbed his forehead a few times, ending the looping process by pinching the bridge of his nose and his eyes finally broke away from staring silently at the recruitment paper placed neatly on the table, already written and signed by the applicant. His vision then landed upon his adoptive sister, the same sister who happened to be the same young woman who saved the Frontier fleet with her voice four years ago, and sacrificed almost literally everything she held dear in the process. Something that should not happen to her, or just anyone in general. The girl herself was already staring back at him, her bright amber eyes narrowed but at the same time flaring with defiance and determination.

The older Lee suddenly found himself pinching his nose's bridge yet again, letting out a wary sigh at the same time. "Ranka..." He muttered her name loud enough for the green-haired to hear. "...I want to you think about this, _very_ carefully this time," The S.M.S. pilot's voice was dangerously low, and he was trying his best not to show any sign of hostility towards his sister he'd grown to hold dear after all the times they've spent together.

"I did," Was Ranka's simple but definite answer. Even her tone carried a sense of finality within it, indicating whatever choice she'd made - it couldn't be so easily changed. "I've thought about this for months, onii-chan. Months. Even since the project's inception. I want to go; I _need_ to go."

Ozma couldn't help but to produce a laugh, not one of positive intentions but of disbelief instead. "You _need_ to go? But what about the Frontier fleet, what about your singing career, what about us, your friends, Nyan-Nyan, Sheryl... me?"

His question seemed to hit close to home, for the younger of the Lees' hard glare softened up a bit. Living with Ranka for the most of her life, he surely knew which buttons to push. "That's..." She paused, biting her lower lip after finding herself at a lot for words, but her expression steeled once more. "...You need to understand how much of this expedition means to me- no, to all of us," The greenette's voice was hushed and subdued. "I feel like this is kind of a once-in-a-lifetime chance, you know? We finally have the chance to follow their trail and finally make peace with them! I just... want to help in any way I can. Who knows, maybe we'll find Alto-kun in the process too."

"So... it's still about him, huh?" Ozma's eyebrow rose, also visibly cringing. "I should've known you still haven't let it go."

"Wha- no!" The younger Lee defended, strands of her green hair beginning to flare up not in embarrassment but more irritation. "Do you really think my reasons are that shallow?! I've grown, onii-chan. Right now, I'm the only one who has a direct connection with the Vajra, and sooner or later the fleet would need obviously need someone if they're to establish contact with them. This is a diplomatic expedition, it's not like we're going for war."

"Then why a fighter pilot of all things, Ranka?!" Feeling that he was reaching his limit, Ozma roughly grabbed her application request and shoved it forward to her face. "You know well this is a N.U.N.S. operation also, why don't you join the S.M.S. instead?"

"Do I really need to answer that, onii-chan?" She swatted her adoptive brother's hand away, as much as she loved him and understood his reasons to do just that, Ranka also valued her personal space. "Don't even try to hide it, Michael-san has already told me about how this isn't within your jurisdiction. Your contract stated that the S.M.S.'s current priority one mission is to help with the colonization effort and to ensure security within the surrounding space... with your squadron spearheading the whole operation."

The S.M.S. personnel recoiled at her words, his shock was only matched by his sudden desire to sock the marksman's square in the face the next time they meet. Surely enough, his sister had voiced the truth. His private military company, the Special Military Service was not employed to take part within the exploration fleet and instead already accepted a long-term contract to establish a foothold within the Vajra planet's system and its surrounding space. Even with full New United Nations government support the colonization and the rebuilding process from the war has only just recently been completed, and that was still step one to fully claim the entire system. The expedition was purely, and strictly a N.U.N.S. operation, despite it being a peaceful journey purely consisting of volunteers.

"I also want to become a fighter pilot because..." Ranka continued, her voice slowly losing its earlier certainty and momentum. "Because... all my life, I've _always_ been sheltered, protected, rescued. I... I want to be more than just a damsel in distress. I want to help people instead, I want protect everyone, and I want to do more than just... singing or dancing our way through."

"Even if it means taking the lives of others?" Ozma quickly interjected, voice cold and sharp. The man's dominant hand slowly making its way towards his sidearm, strapped on his right thigh. In one motion, he pulled the pistol out and brought it to his sister's view, before placing it down on the table. He didn't want nor have to do that, but it was about time he made his point clear, and that pistol was a great representation to emphasize his statement. "Ranka... you're already twenty, I'm sure you already understand what it means to be... to be a soldier," He grimaced, his mind travelling to parts he would rather not dig up. "It isn't like all the commercials or recruitment videos we've seen. It changes you, it warps you."

The green-haired young woman flinched, her brother was no longer using lies or deception to stop her. He was being dead serious when it comes to his military career, and it honestly showed. Ranka was never a killer in the first place, and would never ever aim to become one. If anything, fighting a war would only trigger all sorts of bad things within her fragile and usually pacifist mind, still haunted by her past for being the sole survivor of the 117th Research Fleet. Ozma knew Ranka would never dare to hurt a single living being, even it said being was a hostile one. She would just always cower, cry, and wait until everything blows over. Her connection with the Vajra only further proved it. She would use her powers as a singer for peace and to understand all lifeforms through her songs.

But she was no longer having any of it. No longer she would want to be Ranka Lee, a failed Miss Macross. "I know... it's because I've already grown that I..." The girl let her words hang, stepping forward to the table to eye the sleek but dangerous firearm for a few seconds, her slightly trembling, slim fingers reaching out to touch the handle of the pistol, and slowly affirming her grip on it once her hand was fully wrapped around the grip. "That I need to break out of my shell," And with that, she picked up the Ozma's sidearm, hanging it up with trained-but-awkward professionalism before aiming its barrel down harmlessly towards the ground. "I've already known the consequences of my choice, onii-chan, and I'm prepared to face them when the time comes."

Ozma's eyes were wide, bulging even, when it all happened, as if they were being sucked out of their sockets. Ranka's face was once again colored with the same determination he always saw whenever she has her mind set on something big. Like when she first stated her intentions to become a singer, when she prepared to face the Vajra and sung her way through enemy formation with the Macross Quarter years ago. This was not her stubbornness or her ego showing on the surface, this was Ranka's decision through and through. He wasn't sure what to feel next, a part of him felt proud how seemingly mature Ranka'd gotten over the years, but at the same time, he felt sick right to his stomach at her choice and newly-found bravado to hold a gun like it's nothing.

He was slowly, but steadily growing desperate, not wanting to lose his sister, not after everything he'd done. "...But you don't have any experience flying an actual fighter, how are they supposed to accept you in their ranks just like-"

"You already know the answer for that one, onii-chan. I'm a certified graduate of Mihoshi, I'm eligible to enroll as a pilot whenever I want," The greenette obviously sensed the older Lee's distressed state, she approached him after putting down the pistol she was holding on the table.

"And-and you still haven't answered my question... but what about Nyan-Nyan or your singing career? Your friends?" Ozma's voice started to crack, and with his ego getting the best of him and the desire of not letting Ranka see his weaker side, the man snapped his gaze to the ground, fists clenching.

Ranka placed a hand on his shoulder, a melancholic look replacing her earlier resolute one. "I've told them about this earlier... and they've actually been really supportive. Even Elmo-san told me he'd vouch for me if the recruiter's giving me a hassle," A small smile appeared on her lips, that one eccentric manager was always eager to help her in any path she would choose.

"And what about Sheryl...?"

The younger Lee's lips suddenly pressed themselves to form a thin line as her mind went to think about the diva in question, who's currently in a coma. The woman hasn't woke up, and still hasn't shown any signs of doing so ever since Alto's disappearance four years ago and the disease inside finally getting the best of the singer. Admittedly, most people have given up on her chance for a full recovery. It has damaged the once great diva of the Macross Galaxy fleet, her brain activity was weakening by the day, and more and more of her internal organs has stopped working without proper and elaborate life-support system, and even then her body was still degrading, and her survival... slipping.

It took a great deal of effort even for the grown Ranka to hold back some tears after reminiscing her friend, rival and mentor's dire and miserable state. "I honestly think... Sheryl-san would instantly take the offer if she's awake right now. Maybe even ask me to come with her. She wouldn't want us to stay still, be passive and reactive about this," She pushed all the painful memories down. Even if she was Ranka's rival for Alto's affection, and even when Sheryl won his feelings and his love, Ranka couldn't just push her away like that. She meant too much for her, and the greenette would do anything in her power to see the diva open her eyes again.

"And what about me?" That seemed to be the breaking point for the S.M.S. pilot, even with his face still pointing at his feet, Ranka could see some clear droplets of water falling from his face.

For that, she has no counter argument. The only thing she could offer to the man was comfort. Slowly and carefully, her arms began to wrap themselves around him, her brother immediately responding to the contact by engulfing the girl in a tight hug, almost crushing. Like he's terrified to let her go. Ranka's composure also finally wavered after being pounded by her own surfacing guilt of leaving him alone. The tears she'd been holding back also surfaced after seeing her adoptive brother to which she's already seen as her own family break down. Her bond with him was too tight to only be considered as unrelated siblings. Even she could not replicate the same amount of love to her late but actual older brother, Brera Sterne.

"I... I want you to understand, onii-chan," She whispered softly, rubbing Ozma's back with her small hands to provide him her sympathy. "I want you to trust me."

The silence that followed afterwards was heavy.

* * *

He couldn't remember the last time he was feeling _this_ excited. Not when he first graduated as a New United Nations Spacy pilot, not when he scored his first kill back at the Vajra war, not when he heard the resounding cry of victory of the joint-allied forces when the aliens retreated into unknown space. He was finally cleared of his physical rehabilitation and has gained access to become a part of the new operation as a pilot along with some of his other squadron members. He was finally reinstated into the military. With a quick swipe, he closed the locker before him after he finished changing into a more professional set of military clothing, seeing his reflection on the mirror when the metal door fully closed.

His youthful face carried some suppressed vigor, even with all the new scars he'd earned four years ago and one particularly nasty mark running down his left eyebrow all the way to his cheekbone. His dark chocolate, narrow, and slightly slanted eyes sparkled with hints of enthusiasm despite the neutral expression he would try his best to always maintain while on duty. He would need to remind himself later to cut his hair yet again, though. With quick observation, his black hair while still short, was growing to be a tad bit unruly for military service and even some strands of his bangs started to slightly distract his vision. With his personal observation done, he gave one last sigh of self-assurance before turning to face the door that led him to and from the changing area.

The personnel didn't have to open the door, however, for another individual did it for him. Only slightly surprised, he quickly bent his head down slightly to show a bit of respect to the other person before walking away from the premises.

Only to be stopped when he heard the other person halting him with their hand blocking his torso, effectively holding him within his tracks.

"Damn, Irons, I know you can be a real asshole sometimes, but is this is just cold bro," Lifting his face to meet the other one who'd just spoken, the one being mentioned as Irons saw an eyeful of brown curly hair and slightly jaundiced skin of a taller male sporting a grin on his face. "What, no more love after three years?"

Irons's mouth dropped slightly, before returning the gesture by allowing a small smile to grace his lips, his left grabbing the limb that was holding him and playfully pushing it away. "Warrant Officer Nazir, it's been a while," He nodded in acknowledgement.

"Ow-ow, whoa-hey watch it, RoboMan," Nazir yelped after his arm was shoo'ed away, a bit too forcefully for his liking. "I know you're eager to crack some skulls with that new arm of yours, but that ain't the right way to treat your CO."

Irons's raised his arms in his defense, his left arm was visibly replaced with a prosthetic of steel and iron. "No offense Warrant Officer, but I think it's you who've been missing your PTs."

Before anything could be said further, however, Irons found himself getting engulfed in a platonic hug, a courtesy of the other male. "It's good to have you back, Eleven," Nazir muttered, all in good will. "...Been too long."

The shorter personnel acknowledged the gesture by returning it. "...Yeah, it's good to be back, Two."

"Anyway," Nazir detached himself from Irons. "Welcome aboard, or should I say... welcome back to the _Greenwich_ , Irons. I didn't think you'd be down for this expedition."

"I could say the same to you as well, Warrant Officer," Irons responded plainly, his shoulders shrugging. "How many of the squadron are on board for the voyage anyway?"

The taller man with distinct Middle-Eastern features let his eyes travel elsewhere, thinking about the answer he was about to give. "Well, there's me, Four, Seven, and then there's you."

"Really..." Irons trailed off, face deflating slightly to give off a pensive vibe. "Even Flight Lead's sitting this one out?"

"Actually, you'd be surprised at our current state of manpower," Nazir gestured the shorter man to walk with him down the hallway of the ship. "We're... a bit understaffed, you see."

Irons hummed thoughtfully at the statement, the man did notice that the Uraga-class Carrier they were on was somewhat vacant, shockingly so. Only passing by occasional staff members that he didn't really recognize, and even that was a rarity, he simply concluded that they were newly inducted personnel who volunteered. There were no crew tending to the engines and the life-support system of the ship, leaving the work for the automated systems to do the calculations, and it was about only a few hours before the operation begins. While it was refreshing to see the usually busy ship to be so quiet and tranquil, it was also a bit unnerving considering the scale and importance of the upcoming exploration.

"So what happens now?" Irons piped up once again, deciding to shift the tone of the conversation while they walked. "I suppose you're not here just to greet me on a whim, Warrant Officer."

"Yep, got notified by the LT himself that you're clear and reinstated, says he wants you up to speed and set up with your new unit ASAP - you know, the usual."

Irons blinked twice, a strand of his idiot hair that stood out on the top of his head perking up, one could notice his rather elongated ear twitching, indicating that his attention was piqued. "I'm already assigned to a new machine? Like... this early?"

Nazir's shoulders moved up and down. "It's not that hard to get you in gear when we're _this_ short of crew," He explained simply. "Alright follow me, hangar's this way in case you've forgotten."

The shorter personnel rolled his eyes, he knew that the Warrant Officer was just patronizing him in good humor, but it doesn't mean that he'd to take it just like that, for he knew the ship basically inside out - but in the end, he said nothing but to follow his superior officer to the Carrier's hangar. The hallways were just as empty when he first entered the ship, this time they didn't even encounter a single soul. The only semblance of activity being present was the occasional security cameras turning to identify the men, and after confirming that there was no threat lurking within the ship, the watchful eyes resumed their daily routines to monitor the vacated corridors.

It didn't take long for the two soldiers to reach the hangar bay of the Uraga-class, and once the door slid open, they were greeted with the sight of a slightly busy but still rather empty hangar. Still, the amount of individuals present were actually a major improvement over their earlier quiet walk. Maintenance crews were walking left and right, the noises of contraptions and radio transmission being keyed buzzed all around, and the smell of oil and steel reeked throughout the large room. They quickly noticed several machines being docked and secured in their places, N.U.N.S. Variable Fighters and support units alike scattered neatly and orderly all around the ground.

Irons quickly noticed an unhinged, unmarked - but definitely N.U.N.S.-issued VB-6 Koenig Monster just standing by idly at the leftmost corner of the hangar. His instincts and previous experiences reflexively told him to go down to the Shinnakasu-Grumman manufactured bomber, somehow his legs just autonomously agreed to the idea and the man began his slow march towards the waiting machine, only to be halted once more when the collar of his uniform was pulled back by Nazir. Surprised, he swung his head around his shoulder, eyebrows raised to see the Warrant Officer shaking his head a few times. His superior officer proceeded to jab a thumb to his back, indicating that their intended location was elsewhere.

"Nope, you're not gonna be piloting the Monster this time, Irons," Nazir informed, spinning around to walk the other way. "This way."

Irons felt a wave of confusion washing over his mind. He was quite certain he would be assigned to the _almost literal_ monster of a machine he'd used to fly years back as the pilot. He wouldn't deny that he was longing for the shuttle's capability in brute strength. While the craft lacked mobility, it made up with its potential destructive power through its 320mm railguns. With one of the biggest calibers ever to be fitted into a flying combat vehicle, and then firing one of galaxy's most explosive payload meant a swift farewell to the enemy on its sight. The thing was so intricate to control that it took a minimum of two people, one as a pilot and one as a gunner, although the most optimum choice was to have three crews inside.

"Oh?" Irons questioned numbly, but he found himself at a lost for words and as such, he just let himself being guided by the Middle-Eastern man.

The men walked down the aisle, towards the aisle where the crew could usually store the ship's Variable Fighters. Along the way, Irons would catch the monotone image of the Spacy's standard issue VF-171 Nightmare Pluses being lined up inactive but always ready for use - all of them colored in the newly painted N.U.N.S livery of tan-brown finish with some black patterns and linings on the machine's fuselage. Cheap, but effective when deployed in swarms. He could almost let out an exasperated sigh, the recently reinstated pilot was never a fan of the Fighters, outdated engines and weak pin-point barrier shielding meant while the Valkyrie could be produced en-mass in a rapid pace, it would also mean low survivability rate for its pilots, and boy did it _really_ show during the Vajra war. He never knew why the Spacy wouldn't just switch over to the objectively better VF-25 Messiahs, he settled for a simple answer that General Galaxy just provided a better offering price.

He did spy the recent upgrade for the Nightmare's, though - only recently implemented specifically to combat the Vajras, the VF-171EX Nightmare Plus EX sitting amongst the default formation of Nightmares, if he recalled the Variable Fighter's name. General Galaxy's attempt to make the machine more viable when combating the aliens. The implementation of the EX-Gear meant better response time for the Valkyrie that also allowed for the Slave System to be utilized, a heavy beam cannon to punch through the thickest of Vajra shells, and armored parts as well as improved pin-point barrier generator to improve the ship's durability and general maneuverability. Expensive to produce, but it _was_ effective while it lasted though, it was unfortunate that this much-needed improvement was introduced a bit too late into the war.

Several recon crafts were also spotted by Irons's trained sights, the RVF-171. Basically the same as their uncostumized brethren but with additional sensors and an elaborate ra-dome on the top of its fuselage. Just as cheap, just as frail as the Nightmare Plus, nothing to write home about, really.

Eventually, after more walking in silence to which Irons had grown accustomed to, the men stopped advancing when they arrived before a Variable Fighter.

"Okay, so..." Nazir turned around to face the other soldier, the Warrant Officer's arms lightly swept to the side to add some mock-dramatic effect. " _Ta-dah,_ I guess... here's your new unit," He gave an awkward smile to finish his flat presentation.

Irons's eyes slowly, but steadily grew wider as he studied the machine. It was definitely and obviously a Nightmare Plus - it was even colored in the same tan-colored finish as basically every other ship, but at the same time, it looked significantly different that the other variants of the Nightmares, even the EX variant. For starters, even in its Fighter mode, this one Nightmare was considerably larger than the other machines. If one had to guess, the Valkyrie gained at least an additional 10% increase in size. The main fuselage was wider, the wing span was longer, and the general length of the Nightmare has noticeably inflated, and these changes were the only beginning.

The cockpit was larger. Longer. Enough to seat two pilots within it. The main fuselage was still mostly the same except for the increase in size, but the wings had the most changes. Aside from being expanded, they seemed to be designed to just be locked at a fixed position, this was no thanks to an additional missile pods on the wings' hardpoints and several thrusters on the ends of each wing. The main attraction that drawn Irons's attention the most however, was the presence of twin-linked long beam cannons hoisted on the top of the Variable Fighter's hull. The sheer size of the weapon alone could justify the increase in size and propulsion on the machine's wings.

"Oh..." The black-haired pilot dumbly responded, not knowing what to say further except to just approach the plane and reflexively reaching out his prosthetic to feel the Valkyrie's iron hull. "...What is... what am I seeing here, Warrant Officer?"

"That, Eleven, is General Galaxy's newest venture to try and please the N.U.N.S High Command; The VF-171T Nightmare Plus. That's the official designation for this one, but it goes by many names. Nightmare Plus Tornado Pack, Tornado Nightmare, sometimes just simply your usual Nightmare, you get the gist right?"

Irons's mind recalled the VF-25 Messiahs would sometimes be deployed in a similar equipment like the Nightmare before him back during the war. Heavy Quantum Beam Cannons were installed on them to cut through the Vajra's armor with relative ease, additional weapons and armor as well as a plethora of extra engines to help support the insane recoil for discharging such power.

"This thing is said to be faster, stronger, and all around better than our older Nightmare units. I've heard they've installed an updated power core, the newest pin-point barrier generator for improved protection, all the while keeping the other materials the same as our vanilla Nightmares," Explained Nazir further. "It's supposed to be a cheaper alternative to the EX variant, but without sacrificing much of its performance. Though the lack of the EX-Gear system is a bit of a let down if you ask me."

"So this is basically a... uh, prototype Valkyrie?" Inquired Irons, still busying himself with the aircraft's looks.

Nazir shrugged yet again. " _Ehhh_... kinda. It's still on its testing phase, but it has already entered production, and words said that High-Command has issued one of these to every active squadron - ours included. They probably saw this expedition as the perfect way to test this thing out."

The shorter pilot frowned when a question popped up in his mind. "...I don't see the reason why the Lieutenant would choose me to pilot this thing, though. Aren't I supposed to be a part squadron's bomber crew?"

"Short on staff, and _especially_ pilots," Nazir cocked his head, nudging to the mostly-empty hangar bay of the ship. "We would have Eight and Five piloted this instead, but you know, they... declined. Didn't want to be a part of this operation."

Irons grumbled quietly, accepting the officer's reasoning, though it was _still_ a strange decision. "I... expect that I won't be piloting this alone, then?" He rubbed the updated Nightmare's body softly. "I mean... there's room for two."

Nazir's lips pressed themselves into a tense, and a bit awkward look. "Yeah... about that, I think LT's should be bringing her in shortly."

No sooner than he said that, and before Irons could ask anymore, the nearest hangar door opened, gaining the two personnel's attention, proven by the both of them swiveling their faces at the newcomer that entered the premises. Or rather, two newcomers. Their eyes subconsciously moved over to the first individual who was guiding the other one behind him. A tall human being of Hispanic-descend, with his hair shaved in a clean buzz cut, a strong gaze that demanded attention and signified authority, and his muscles grown and nurtured to the point that his N.U.N.S. uniform was contouring around his arm. The man also happened to be their flight lead.

But what surprised Irons was the other person behind him. A young woman, with heavy Asiatic features - probably has just entered her early stages of adulthood. A lush and bushy green hair with an idiot hair standing up from the rest that's tied into a small ponytail on her back with a brown ribbon, as well as a pair of slanted, brilliant amber eyes graced her soft, tanned face. The expression she wore was within the mixture of anxiety and concern probably for her own well-being while her eyes also trailed all over the hangar bay, learning all of the features and machines within them. One thing he also noticed was that she's a bit small, maybe even nearing diminutive levels. Irons wasn't a tall man by any means - in fact, he was standing at a below average height compared to the other men and sometimes even women that served with him, but this girl was even shorter. Like any other N.U.N.S. personnel, she was dressed with a white dress-uniform along with a matching skirt that reached her knees.

It didn't take a genius to know the identity of the woman, though - for she has the exact same face of the same girl who saved the Frontier fleet along with the Galaxy's diva.

" _Oh... oh no..._ " Irons muttered quietly, mostly to himself. His composure slowly failing him when the realization slowly hit him, his hair going stiffer by the second. " _Please tell me you're joking..._ "

Nazir internally clicked his tongue. He knew the that the pilot wouldn't take this news pretty well, so in order to avoid any unneeded quips or comments he snapped into a quick but crisp salute to greet their squadron commander. and this prompted Irons to shut his mouth to do the same.

Their Flight Lead raised his right arm at his two subordinates. "At ease, Harpoons," With that, the both of his men dropped their hand from their foreheads and entered a more relaxed albeit still stiff posture. "Alexander, good to have you back aboard the _Greenwich,_ " He nodded to acknowledge the presence of his recently reinstated member. "I trust that you've gotten used to your new arm, then?"

Irons nodded back courtly, not letting the woman's presence to distract him, although it did took quite the effort. "Ye... yes, sir. Raring to go, Lieutenant Diaz," He cursed inwardly for letting himself stutter.

Thankfully, the Lieutenant didn't seem to notice this slip up, as his attention has already turned to the aircraft behind the two other men. "I trust that Two has already briefed you on our situation... and your machine?"

"He's up to speed, LT. Though he hasn't familiarized himself with the Nightmare yet," Nazir supplemented the answer for him. "And he's yet to know about his assigned co-pilot..."

Diaz nodded, his hand gesturing for the green-haired woman to step forward, she nearly jumped at the sudden unspoken order - earning her some raised eyebrows from Irons and Nazir. "That's what I'm here for. Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to the newest addition to Harpoon Squadron, she'll be flying as your second for this operation, Eleven - effective immediately," He then indicated to the two males for the girl. "Gunnery Sergeant, these are Warrant Officer Muhammad Nazir and Airman First Class Alexander Irons. Harpoon Two and Eleven respectively. There's also our squadron's other member, Master Sergeant Giovani Linberg flying number Four and also our recon, Technical Sergeant Beatrice Gallagher; Harpoon Seven that should also be taking part in the expedition, but they don't seem to be available at the moment."

"Ah... uh- right," The greenette finally managed to say after taking in all the information from the much taller man. "Gunnery Sergeant Ranka Lee, I'll be under your care during Operation Megaroad! Pleased to be acquainted with you!"

She might've announced that just a bit _too_ loudly for her own good.

* * *

 **Songstress, Misplaced.**

 **A Macross Frontier Work of Fiction**


	2. Chapter 2

To Gunnery Sergeant Ranka Lee, a very-recently inducted personnel to board the _Greenwich_ , it was certainly a new and jarring experience.

Make no mistake though, the diva-turned-copilot was no stranger to military vessels or pretty much N.U.N.S. facilities in general. During the Vajra war, she would make frequent trips to the infamous S.M.S.'s Macross Quarter to accompany them during their advances towards the Vajra planet with her voice, the very same planet they were still currently on, and even months after the war, visiting other Spacy warships, established bases, makeshift civilian camps and field hospitals are so common in occurrence that they'd almost held the girl a year back on her studies on Mihoshi Academy. Turns out being a savior of an entire migration fleet didn't exactly warrant her easy grades, but she fully understood the reason. Mihoshi was and still a school mainly for those who are interested in a military career after all.

Still, now inside the hangar of the Uraga-class Carrier, she couldn't help but to feel off. Maybe it was crew's rush, or the somewhat lukewarm reception she'd gotten from her new squad mates, but she could definitely conclude that the level of synergy and chemistry of the New United Nations Spacy personnel were vastly different from those of the Special Military Service. While the S.M.S. crew of the Quarter were much more lax and had a more welcoming vibe to them, the N.U.N.S. personnel were much more stern, colder, and certainly looked way more organized than the Private Military Organization that she'd come to know. Despite the two of them being military organizations, the difference was night and day, these guys were the real deal.

But somehow, and despite the circumstances, Ranka didn't feel too anxious about her current situation. If anything, she was becoming more and more excited to finally serve in a genuine military body, after all she would finally be a co-pilot for a Variable Fighter - sure she wasn't being immediately enrolled as a pilot. Everywhere her amber eyes would trail, she would see complex machinery being worked on by the Greenwich's maintenance crews, the men and women working hard to make sure the aircraft stored within the hangar were in their optimal condition. This only awakened her competitive spirit. Ranka Lee was a princess trapped in a castle and waiting to be rescued no more, and she certainly wouldn't waste the extra year she took in Mihoshi just to hone her skills as a pilot. She was now a fully-fledged military staff and pilot for this Harpoon Squadron, so she would do her best to act like one.

Unconsciously, and as her mind continued to wonder about all the things she could do, the greenette's mouth slowly erupted into a grin.

"...And that's it for the information regarding our squadron, Gunnery Sergeant Lee, do you have any questions?"

The girl nearly jumped when her ears picked up the voice of a male getting louder and louder. Her brain did a double take and she quickly realized that she was still being briefed about her new post by her new partner, Airman First Class Alexander Irons of the Harpoon Squadron. Speaking of lukewarm reception, this man could be just the perfect definition for that. His posture and ever-neutral expression seemed to tell her that he would have no problem accepting her into their ranks, but this tense muscles, rigid facial movement, as well as his visible veins wrinkling told everything _but_. The former-singer had to gulp a nervous saliva that was hanging on her throat when she saw his eyebrows twitching, an indication of annoyance.

"Ah, err- yes, actually!" She exclaimed quickly, recovering from her earlier shock. "What can you tell me about my post, uhh... Irons...-san?" The girl ended her question with uncertainty to refer to the man as. Sure, she has already outranked him by a considerable margin, but she knew well her rank probably meant nothing to his experience, proven by the multiple scars and the prosthetic connected to a stump on his left arm. Ranka didn't really want to call him out by his rank, it would only give him the sense that she was trying to rub it on him. In the end, she just decided for the time being, she would have to just refer him with an honorific.

Irons was not taking this lightly. It took a lot of his nerves to cool him down from the sudden revelation by his Flight Lead. Their squadron had accepted a civilian. A civilian. Her experience serving with the S.M.S., or her obvious title as the Frontier's savior be damned, she was still just a civilian. Was the expedition team that short of manpower that they accepted _THE_ Ranka Lee of all people as his co-pilot? While he didn't exactly hate the young woman, heck, he was actually a bit of a fan of some of her songs, accepting such a figure to become an active-duty soldier was just out of the question for him. All sorts of negative opinions appeared within him, her being only a recent addition to their team but already out-ranking him certainly didn't help his case. And speaking of his Flight Lead, the Lieutenant and his Second-in-Command had just left the hangar to find the other members of the squadron, leaving all the technical introductory baggage for him to bear.

He was still thankful that the woman didn't seem to act like she expects to be dotted, showered with praises or cheers. In fact, the Ranka Lee he was seeing right now looked... somewhat professional for a greenhorn. As much as he hated the idea, Irons would still have to give some credit where they're due. Her casual vibes aside, he could tell that his co-pilot was seriously trying to fit in as an actual soldier, instead of just being a random passenger in for a free ride. Like all of the volunteers who were present, she must've had her own reasons to join as one, specifically as a pilot, no less. But Irons didn't want to know too much of her yet. If anything, she was still a FNG, and should be treated as one, outranked or not.

Still, internally, Harpoon Eleven was honestly surprised at how apprehensive he was feeling about the predicament. Most people would probably be receiving the former-or-concurrent Cinderella with open arms, and even that's an understatement. He could picture several personnel basically knocked out of their socks if they were to hear the news that Ranka Lee had boarded the _Greenwich_ to help with the expedition.

"Before that, please allow me to ask you a few questions, Gunnery Sergeant," He swiped a hand over to the VF-171T they would be piloting. "Are you familiar with the flight controls or the schematics of a Variable Fighter?"

Ranka blinked, she was rather unprepared to face the question so early into her assignment to the squad. The greenette knew she would hear that inquiry sooner or later, but not too soon. "I... I suppose, I've familiarized myself with a VF's controls through training and simulations in Mihoshi."

Irons's eyebrows quirked upwards, before they furrowed to a slight frown. For the record, he didn't have anything against the flight school, but as a private local establishment, he'd heard that the academy was rather biased to the use of EX-Gears in their cadets' training process. Sure the EX-Gears themselves mimicked the actual feel and controls of a Valkyrie quite well, hell, they even made it easier for pilots to control their machines. Being directly connected to one's body as a part of an exoskeleton meant for a much more tighter, responsive, and lifelike bodily controls of a Variable Fighter, especially in their Battroid modes, and that was still not counting the usage of Slave Mode to autonomously control an aircraft simply with hand gestures even when the pilot was not present inside the cockpit. These reasons alone made multiple VF manufacturers to shift their priority when producing their machines to support the use of EX-Gears.

"...Allow me to clarify," Irons spoke again, a bit cautiously this time. "These... simulations, were they done using the EX-Gears?"

"Most of the time, yes," Ranka responded with a court nod, though her uneasiness was starting to show, and her partner-to-be's reaction certainly didn't help. "Is... something wrong?"

And that's exactly the problem with Mihoshi's pandering to the equipment's usage. Their reliance of the EX-Gears to train their cadets are well-and-good, but the N.U.N.S. didn't exactly have the budget to request VF-171EXs to be deployed as a mass-produced unit. Most, if not all normal variants of the VF-171s were still flown in their normal flight configurations, even years after the introduction of the flight-assisting exoskeleton, and the newly-introduced VF-171T in front of them fell in the latter category. That was the reason why traditional VF controls training was still standardized throughout the galaxy, at least, in New United Nations or government-ran piloting schools.

Alas, the male pilot opted to sigh, he wasn't in the position to be picky as he was also unfamiliar with a Variable Fighter's controls after spending so many months piloting a Koenig Monster then followed by even more months of recovering from his injuries. "Not necessarily..." He mumbled, motioning over to the ladder that led the two to the cockpit of the Nightmare. "But I would like to inform you that the VF-171T model uses a traditional flight control schematics, so..."

"Oh..." The co-pilot's face fell slightly, her heart sinking at the information. It felt like all the extra time and effort she'd put into learning with Mihoshi were wasted. "I see..."

Feeling that the news might've broken her morale, Irons quickly turned his brain to produce a rectifying response. "As I've said, it's not necessarily a problem. From what I've known the EX-Gears' are modeled after the standard flight scheme of the Nightmare anyway so you shouldn't have that much of a problem... that is... if I might say so myself, Gunnery Sergeant," He elaborated, only ending on an awkward note after he realized he'd ran his mouth too much. "Now, if you'd join me? I think it would be best for us to review and familiarize ourselves with our machines if we are to control this unit later," He pointed towards the empty co-pilot seat of the Nightmare, gesturing the greenete to climb aboard.

Hearing that reassurance helped the diva-turned-pilot somewhat, Ranka could only nod dumbly as her new pilot spoke to her, but her uncertainty returned when he invited her over to man the VF - however, such thoughts were quickly squashed by her own sense of excitement once again resurfacing. It was not an uncommon occurrence that Ranka would hitch in a ride or two in a Valkyrie, in fact, she was often-times rescued by one, courtesy of a certain S.M.S. pilot that'd gone Missing in Action. But this time, she would finally ride in one, not as a feeble girl that needed rescuing, but as a full-fledged pilot. Just the idea alone already made her bushy-green hair go all tingly to match her giddiness.

"Gunnery Sergeant Lee?" The neutral voice of her partner-to-be reached her ears to snap her out of her thoughts, Ranka's amber eyes refocused themselves to witness Irons, already situated at his own main-pilot seat, his eyebrows raised. "Something the matter?"

"Err, no! Everything's alright!" She quickly responded, voice going several octaves higher than her usual, but already-high pitch, her legs carrying her to climb the ladder to the co-pilot's portion of the cockpit.

Despite his grunt of affirmation, Irons was fighting back the urge to roll his eyes. Being a Zentran-descend himself, although spared from having an alien's name, he was all too familiar with that kind of bodily reaction. A Zentran's hair would usually reflexively move in accordance to their host's emotions, and the way hers moved was one indicating something akin to a childish glee. Still, he wouldn't have thought that the Cinderella would produce that show of excitement when being introduced to a tool of war, it's like she's been waiting her whole life to do this. But alas, logic over his curious thoughts and any personal questions would have to wait, if he wanted to ask them at all, even.

When Ranka reached the edge of the Nightmare's cockpit, she took in the view of the Valkyrie's interior. Dormant consoles, intricate, complex flight mechanism, all locked, inactive, and offline situated in front of an ejection seat of metal and cushioning dampeners, probably made to absorb some of the G-Force during acceleration and maneuvers. At this, she frowned lightly. She had been a passenger of multiple Variable Fighters before, so while she knew that their cockpits weren't exactly made to accommodate the comfort of their pilots, this one seemed to be taking it to the next level. Even for someone her size, which she wouldn't deny that she's a bit small for her age, the co-pilot's portion was just barely enough to fit her body inside, she couldn't even begin to imagine how the other personnel had to deal with this kind of seating arrangement.

But she then found herself steeling her nerves. A good soldier wouldn't complain, and that's what she'd do. Eagerly, the greenette plopped herself into the ejection seat of the Nightmare, shifting herself uncomfortably and carefully not to hit any of the internal machinery or circuitry. She quickly studied the contents inside, a plethora of buttons, levers, switches for her to toy with if they're active. A pair articulated flight sticks that also housed the unit's firing mechanisms, and what seemed to be thruster pedals to control the Valkyrie's verniers. It was more or less not much different from the instruments present for a VF's main pilot seat. Looking down on her seat, she saw a red handle - no doubt controlling the ejection.

Ranka could once again feel her anxiety rising. So many information entering and swirling inside her mind, information that she would have to learn if she valued her life. But she wouldn't let them overwhelm her, for what her main-pilot had said was true. The scheme inside did feel familiar to her, at least she could discern which part of the instrument controls which part of the fighter, thanks to her EX-Gear training. Similarly in the front, Irons was also feeling a bit uncomfortable at the foreign interior of a Variable Fighter. Despite also being an aircraft, the Koenig Monster he'd been piloting for months had vastly different controls than the Nightmare, contrary to popular belief, a Valkyrie's flight scheme isn't as standardized as everyone'd thought. This was also a learning experience for the pilot.

Flipping a switch, Irons could see the feedback coming from the Valkyrie's generators almost instantly.

"I'm booting up the aircraft's instruments," He informed, turning his head over his shoulder to check up on his co-pilot. "Gunnery Sergeant? Can you detect any fluctuation in the power core on your end?"

Ranka snapped her gaze to look at the screen in front of her seat. It flickered with energy for a few seconds before it finally displayed the Variable Fighter's data. "Uh... I don't think so," As usual, her voice was laced with doubt, double checking the console again, this time, her brain hardwiring her consciousness to all the materials she'd reviewed and trained on back at Mihoshi. "For now, I think the power is flowing steadily across the craft, Irons-san."

Irons was quiet for a couple of seconds, she was more capable in this than he'd thought. "I see, that's good to know," Mused the man after he'd turned his head back to look at his own screen. "We have about a few hours before the operation begins, I trust you can familiarize yourself with the controls by then?"

The diva-now-co-pilot nodded her head reflexively, despite her actions no longer witnessed by the other personnel. "Yes! I can certainly try," She said, allowing a vigorous smile to grace her lips, again, unnoticed by the other pilot, her hands already moving to test the response of the VF's flight controls.

The male in question gave a hum of affirmation. "Good. Please don't be afraid to ask-" He stopped himself short, not wanting the girl to know that he was also unfamiliar with the aircraft. "...Consult with the on-board manual if you have any questions," Irons corrected himself lamely, part of his ego wishing the greenette didn't notice what he'd said just now.

Earning a ' _yes_ ' as a response, the two began their work on the aircraft, settling their bodies and their limbs to better study the active-but-still-dormant aircraft. They quickly found out that there seemed to be more to the VF-171T than meets the eye, although it was still pretty straightforward. The pilot controls the navigation and some degree of the craft's weaponry, while the co-pilot handled the Valkyrie's pin-point barrier system, sensors, and also some of its weapons, though, the control of the ship could be handed over completely to either side of the cockpit during emergency situations to which the pilots could override the Variable Fighter's systems for them to control, hence the identical layout of the ship's instruments.

Seconds turned to minutes, and while the digits continue to rise, Ranka could feel an opinion forming at the back of her head. Learning the controls of the Nightmare was surprisingly more simpler... but also much more boring than she'd thought. It's not like she was not interested to learn more about the Valkyrie, but with the accompanying busy sounds of the hangar, it certainly didn't give her any entertainment value. To be fair, she thought that applying her knowledge to use would be more interesting than just repeatedly punching in some keys inside a cramped space, she knew that this was purely because of the fact that they were still standing by, but it didn't mean she has to like the idea.

To satiate her growing boredom, her mind once again traveled to some place else, letting her working brain to go on a short break. The first thing that popped into her mind was the state of the Galaxy Fleet's own diva, Sheryl Nome, to a much more simpler time when she was still a growing teenager, to a time when she would sneak out of school to attend the Miss Macross contest and watch the other diva's concert as a spectacle. It was supposed to be Sheyrl's last show before she returned to the Galaxy Fleet. This was one of her turning points, when Ranka found her own passion for music, and near-infatuation with her soon-to-be-rival for Alto's affection.

If she recalled correctly, back then, Sheryl delivered a grand song that still triggered fond memories every time any semblance of its tone enters her ears to this day.

And so, Ranka started humming, her amber eyes drooping slightly. Her soft quiet melodic voice not enough to tune out the all the busy noises produced from the variety of activities within the _Greenwich_ 's hangar, but it did its job to distract her perfectly.

What she didn't realize that the effect seemed to be much greater than anticipated, for it also caught the attention of the other pilot on the seat in front of her.

Irons was somewhat surprised when his trained ears picked up a new voice. It was the voice of his co-pilot, but this time she was not making her usual confused or uncertain speeches, it was the melody of a song he'd heard once, years ago. His fingers immediately stopped whatever they were doing, and his eyes darted back to investigate what how the greenette was faring without fully turning his face. Ranka's face was lightly bopping up and down along with the tune she was humming on, the girl's eyes was half-closed - but despite that her hands was still moving with the ship's controls, and even every touch, tap, flip, push or pull she would make was also in-tempo with the song's beats. It's almost like... she was enjoying herself.

Irons turned his eyes back to the front after a he realized that he'd been staring, probably for a bit too long. His neutral expression turning into a more unreadable one. Hearing the voice of Frontier's savior directly behind him was most certainly a strange experience, but he wasn't sure how to feel about it. On one part, he wanted to silence her or maybe berate her for doing such distracting actions, but the other part of him was also secretly welcoming the voice. It made all sorts of strange reactions to form inside his body, he could see the strands of his hair growing stiff, but afterwards relaxing and even swaying along to the tune of the music. It was the same voice that calmed an entire killer alien race that's not capable of comprehensible speech after all.

Meanwhile, back to Ranka, the greenette was already losing herself to the song that brought her so much good memories, her hums - while still contained to a small volume was going stronger by the second, especially when nearing the refrain of the song.

And then, it was time for the refrain.

" _Motteke - ryuusei chirashite deito - koko de kiyuu na faito ekusutashi- kogashite yo,_ "

Irons's eyes immediately went wide when actual lyrics started to pour out of Ranka's mouth. Multiple electrifying waves were sent out from his nerves, tingling all of his senses and crawled all the way from the top to the bottom of his spine, the pilot's hairs once again went completely stiff. His fingers trembled slightly as more of the melody crashed through his eardrums, completely nullifying all other sounds from within the Carrier's hangar. Then, as if his senses were completely taken over by the melody, his feet rested on the Nightmare's thruster pedals began to drum along the supposed beats, his fingers tapping along to join in as well.

" _Tondeke - kimi no mune ni sweet omakaseshinasai motto yoku shite ageru ageru... iteza gogo kuji Don't be late...!_ "

When Ranka finally ended the song on a rather high note, her brain notified the greenette of her actions, and after giving off a surprised yelped that sounded more like a squeak than anything else, she shut her mouth. The tunes she'd sung certainly weren't enough to beat all the other overpowering noises, but it was obvious enough, at least for someone within a few feet in radius to notice her singing.

"Irons-san!" She quickly exclaimed. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't meant to- uh-" Ranka chewed on her lower lip, not a good time to be stammering. She could already picture the main pilot of the VF-171T turning backwards with fury in his eyes.

Silence ensued for a couple of seconds.

"I... didn't mind it," Irons's voice came out slow and calm, but he sounded like he was also out of breath, he wasn't turning his face around. "But please, next time... be mindful of your surroundings before you start singing."

The man was this close to biting his tongue, he wasn't sure what happened to him, he wasn't sure if loved it or hated it, her voice felt like... an uncontrollable force, or more like... a desire.

A desire for him to yearn more.

He quickly shook his head. He concluded that he wasn't thinking straight, and probably should get his psych getting checked up later.

But for now...

"Hey, if it isn't Harpoon Eleven? Didn't know you'd be carrying Lady M on board your VF as well!"

* * *

 **Songstress, Misplaced.**

 **A Macross Frontier Work of Fiction**


End file.
